Prisoners of Worth
by Akarri
Summary: Roy stared wearily at a stone wall splattered with old blood, and knew his turn was next. Oneshot


**To those who've read my previous works, remember how I said I was working on my next big project..? Yeahhh, I got distracted... But I'm very glad to finally upload this! Somehow, after Postmortem, I wasn't done being mean to Roy. And now that this oneshot is done, I'll actually keep working on what I said I'd work on.**  
 **Hope you enjoy! :D**

* * *

Roy's dark, tired eyes stared forward.

A stone wall stared back.

His shadow fell on the dirty grey surface, bending and molding to the divots in the blocks as the hot mid-morning sun pounded against his nearly bare back, protected very little by a thin, torn shirt. Roy grimaced slightly as the stone that was not hidden by his shadow reflected the oncoming sunlight, glinting in his eyes and forcing him to keep a steady squint until he adjusted to it. It has been quite some time since he had been allowed outside.

Moss crept up the wall from the ground like desperate fingers trying to scale to the top, but it would likely be at least several months until the growth would be enough to reach the freedom of the other side. Roy followed the brownish green lines with his heavy eyes, idly making shapes and patterns.

This wall, built to help divide cattle from the dirt road that winded around the countryside, had already been stained, though he could not tell how long ago. His gaze fell on the many fading red splotched that tainted the stone directly in front of him. Each one told a story of an impending fate that he dared not to consider much longer, lest he begin to panic.

However, avoiding such a result seemed inevitable once he heard a familiar voice shout in a foreign language from behind. He flinched as it grated against his ears, sending a sharp warning through his mind that he was unable to heed. Roy's arms tugged on the binds that held his hands behind his back, causing him to grimace yet again at the discomfort.

They had long since stopped restraining him with anything more than twine once the last finger was broken.

Answering the call of their superior officer, several shadows stretched down and onto the wall, approaching him. His spine tingled with the sudden surge of defenselessness and forcing him to fight the desire to turn around, keep his back to the wall, and break his arms free to fight back.

Except he couldn't do that.

He couldn't do any of that.

Not only was it physically impossible, as his incredibly sore muscles and drained body reminded him, but he had quickly learned that it was generally a bad idea to move once they told him to stand still. It wasn't worth it.

But he couldn't afford himself the luxury of thinking about it. He's been standing there for only a few minutes, but his body was quivering from the sheer exhaustion. He had no choice but to buckle his knees to keep from crumpling to the ground, but that would soon be his undoing if he was forced to stand there much longer. At least his feet had already gone numb.

The incoming shadows became shorter and more defined as their sources grew closer, allowing him to make out the shapes of rifles that they all appeared to carry.

Roy had his suspicions of course, but the stubborn denial that had kept him alive and sane thus far hadn't allowed him to think much of it. But as the shadows stopped behind him, many of them being cast over his own, there was no more denying the dark, suffocating reality that been slowly stretching its cold tendrils around his lungs. No words were said for what felt like an eternity as their eyes bore into his back and stung the wounds that they would not allow to heal.

His breath hitched in his throat as he fought to belly the uncontrollable reaction. His pulse was racing, head aching, and his chest began to heave with every thin intake as if the oxygen in the air was suddenly depleted. He struggled relentlessly to keep the shaking to a minimum- couldn't let them know his fear- but his body acted against his will and his attempts only succeeded in making him look more panicked.

They had finally accepted that he wasn't going to talk.

They had finally grown bored of torturing him.

And now that he was standing out there in the grass, facing a wall as his captors stood behind with guns in hand, he could only assume that his return to the military would not deliver the ransom that they were hoping for.

But _why?_ He was the Flame Alchemist! A prized human weapon for the military; he was so certain that they would have gone to great lengths to get him back.

The Aerugonian forces have already crossed the border and were inching closer to South City after Roy had gotten captured. He was leading the counter attack, setting fields ablaze, guiding the enemy like trapped mice. Without him there, the Amestrians were getting pushed further and further back into their own land. They _needed_ him.

But something must have gone wrong.

Had negotiations fell through?

Or maybe it was all a ruse. Maybe they always planned to kill him, and just wanted to see how low he'd fall in the meantime. He was too dangerous to hand back, no matter the price.

Another commanding bark from behind chimed, pulling Roy back into the present. He saw the shadows rise their guns on order, creating a deadly arch of shadows to fall over him, aiming at his back, his head, trapping him.

"Any last words, Amestrian?" the gruff voice of an experienced officer said, laced heavily in a slurred, Aerugonian accent. The same man who encouraged Roy's torment to continue, who pushed his head into the ground until he threw up dirt, who broke one too many fingers.

Roy kept his mouth shut, because saying nothing was always safest, but he considered the question as a burst of fear struck through his core, chilling his bones despite the persistent heat. He lost any ability to hide how his arms shook, pulling at the binds and digging the irritating twine further into his bloodied wrists.

The resentment and loathing he held for the man who had caused his continuous torture had become irrelevant for a brief moment. Still, the overwhelming fear and horror at the prospect of dying in the camp of the enemy, alone and humiliated, sunk into every vein like poison. Every moment of his suffering would become pointless. But surely there was something he could say, if only just for his own sake. Final words- final goodbyes, with hopes of his voice traveling the gusts of the southern fields to reach the people he cared for.

But nothing came to mind, besides a pathetic apology for being foolish enough to get captured; except his waning pride couldn't let the soldiers hear that.

Images of his trusted friends and family streamed through his mind, but what else could he possibly say to them?

Alternatively, something snide and confident like _see you in hell_ refused to be voiced; any inclination that he somehow accepted this fate was halted by the powerful coiling in his gut. All that he had worked for, all he planned to do, had slipped away those many weeks ago, and he was finally seeing the last few grains of sand slide through his broken grasp, and he was _terrified_.

Roy said nothing.

The Aerugonian man clicked his tongue in disappointment, and Roy saw the shadow of his arm rise into the air to signal the gunmen.

His shoulders stiffened as a paralyzing jolt shot through his body, thrusting a wave of nausea through his head. His vision twisted and blurred as he swayed on his abused feet while some distant, trained echo insisted that he keep standing for his own sake, despite the fact that it wouldn't matter very soon.

Through the raging fear and adrenaline that his weary body was not capable of handling, Roy somehow managed to clear his vision just in time to glance up as the shadow cast by the signaling arm swiftly fell.

Roy shut his eyes in a violent flinch, preparing to be ripped apart by a shower of bullets. His heart leapt desperately into his throat as if to somehow avoid them.

Several loud explosions wailed deafeningly in his ears.

All the people he knew, his failures, and his successes during his lifetime swam through his mind in a split second, far faster than he could comprehend them.

And then-

Nothing.

Laughter.

Seconds passed, he realized with a start. Time was still passing, and laughter and amused conversation washed over nauseatingly.

Roy opened his suddenly hazy eyes, shocked that he could even do that much.

The wall stared back, without a single dot of fresh blood marring the surface.

His first thought was that they all missed; that he was lucky. But no, Roy realized after several long, excruciating beats. He felt the terrible, burning throb in his fingers, the aches and pains of his ribs, every bruise, every cut, every burn, and knew he was not lucky. They did not miss. They fired blanks.

Again, his vision twirled and the dizziness was overwhelming.

 _Don't fall down._

He swayed, breathing ragged and deep.

 _They'll hurt you. Don't fall down!_

The laughter of the enemy soldiers that circled around, disorienting, echoing from all sides-

He was not dead.

They did not miss.

Roy felt his knees hit the ground with a soft thud long before he realized he had fallen, far too distracted by his greedy gasps for air that ripped through his dry throat.

Of course. He should have known they wouldn't be merciful enough to end his torment so soon. It's only been… a month now? He wasn't too sure. He lost count as soon as he lost the ability to scratch ticks into the walls.

 _Keep it together. Don't let them see your weakness!_

That voice circled through his ears since the day he had arrived in their camp, but he slowly began to disregard its advice, all too exhausted to hold in the pained screams through barred teeth or hide his constant shuddering.

They were speaking to him. He heard their amused, cruel voices address him, but through the heavy pulse in his veins, he couldn't so much as discern what language was being spoken.

A dirty military boot came down on his back and shoved him forward. His arms instinctively pulled to save himself, but they only pressed uselessly into the rough twine. Roy collapsed into the ground, stray rocks scratching against his skin as he spat up the dirt and grass that made it into his mouth when he gasped from shock on the way down.

More laughter. More voices. _Pay attention, or else it won't stop._

"Patience, Alchemist," the same commanding voice taunted from behind as Roy remained on the ground. _That bastard._ "You don't get to die just yet."

Two soldiers came up to him and he flinched involuntarily, sickened by how he had steadily become accustomed to being powerless. One grabbed his arm as the other curled a hand around the collar of his shirt, both pulling him up into some kind of half-walk, half-drag. At least they weren't making him walk himself for once; he wouldn't have been able to stay upright.

He heard their superior say something as he was being carried off, too weak to fight it. Something about how he would be free if only he would consider giving up the information they wanted: troop movements, strategies, and codes.

Any information Roy had on that would have been long outdated by then. The Aerugonians knew that, as they knew that death would have been a mercy at this point. But he would die either way, no matter what they sometimes liked to tell him.

He should have been dead.

Pulled away from the wall and back towards the camp, Roy weakly eyed the area that had quickly become familiar. The invaders had set up camp in the small farming town of Welosle, just inside the southern border. Thankfully, the townspeople have been evacuated the moment they caught wind of the spreading invasion.

Though they were pulling him into the town's little jailhouse, his mind was still lingering by that wall, staring at the old red stains, almost as if he wasn't entirely convinced that the whole thing had been faked.

Mock executions. He had heard of the concept, knew it to be a thing- not an uncommon form of psychological torture. He never thought he'd have to experience it. It left more of an impact than he would have imagined.

Roy expected to be dead by then. While that was never the plan, apparently, he couldn't help but feel as if he was living off of borrowed time.

Head bowed, eyes weakly gazing at the bricks underfoot as he was pulled across the room, he heard the screech of unoiled hinges swinging open, and he was forced into a cell and tossed into the corner without the strength to keep himself from completely sinking into a lifeless pile. The cage was locked and the two disappeared, thankfully deciding not to linger and attempt to goad him into reacting for once.

They often spat at him and threw rocks between the iron bars. Back when he was first trapped in there, Roy was quick to make them fear getting too close. However, the longer he remained, the less hesitant they were to approach.

But leaving him be now was not an act of mercy; they wanted him to sit and stew on what happened.

Roy slowly rolled onto his side and shifted his legs against the uneven brick flooring to push himself further into the corner, mindful to leave room for his broken fingers. Despite the exhausted cries of his muscles, he pulled his knees closer to his core protectively, which was an arduous effort by itself, and stared vacantly out at the opposing wall.

Everything hurt. Consciousness attempted to pull away from him, but the sheer pain that coursed through his body put up a fight, not wanting him to give in to the oblivion. Somehow, that may have been the worst part. The soldiers would take turns to keep him awake for several days straight, forcing him to stand in one place and sometimes pace in circles. And now that he was _finally_ given a moment to himself, he was in too much pain to make use of it.

That wasn't fair.

He just wanted to rest.

He should have been dead.

Hours passed. Blissful hours, devoid of any interruptions. The roaring adrenaline from the mock execution simmered and died out, leaving Roy with nothing besides his overbearing fatigue. Somehow, being allowed to lay down after going for so long without it just hurt more, giving his legs and feet time to remember how overworked and battered they were.

He stared half-lidded at the metal bars that surrounded him, blankly studying every scratch and dent in their otherwise smooth surfaces. That was all he could do when the soldiers would demand information, and all he let himself say in response was his rank and identification number.

He'd count the bars to keep himself distracted, disconnected from the abysmal surroundings. Over and over and over again.

A distant echo of a boom reverberated through the ground ever so slightly. Had he not had his face pressed against it, he would have missed it completely. But Roy thought nothing of it, having been reminded of the early morning firing practice the Aerugonians would do every now and again. The first few times, he allowed himself to think the sound meant he was getting rescued.

Roy shifted in an attempt to ease the discomfort in his shoulders. It didn't work.

Muted, urgent voices filtered in from outside, muffled through the walls of the small building. He heard the clamor of multiple hasty footfalls racing down the dirt road, but his weary mind could not spare the energy to process it. He didn't care about what they were doing out there.

That stone wall was already splattered with old blood. How many other people were executed there? He should have been one of them.

Guns went off, guttural orders and pained, surprised cries. The ground shook, its source closer this time. Another explosion directly followed, causing the building the creak and settle. Dust from the overhead support beam was shaken down. Roy coughed and opened his eyes, blinking blearily as if the past few seconds had been a strange dream. But the outside chaos continued, and he at last coerced his head into lifting just enough to catch a glimpse through the small window on the other side of the room.

A few figures raced past, then were quickly swallowed by a plume of dust and torn grass, followed by their frantic yelling.

Roy dropped his head against the brick once more.

Another blast, right behind the wall that was just out of his immediate view, again shook the building and sent waves through the ground. The door was thrown open, its hinges crying in protest, and Roy tensed on impulse. He wanted to curl in on himself more, but his limbs have all but rebelled against him.

He heard a pair of boots step into the room, but continued to only stare half lidded at the layer of disorienting fog that lingered in front of his eyes. He somehow felt disconnected from the events occurring around him. The only thing he was acutely aware of was the never-ending sense of danger. He wondered if he just pretended he wasn't there, any pain that was brought to his body would be easier to ignore.

When he heard a tired, familiar voice by the doorway, the flag that should have pointed out that it did not belong there failed to rise. He kept staring ahead at nothing, blinking slowly, and still shaking violently.

A few hasty steps forward, and then:

"… Mustang!?"

Yes, he knew that voice. Roy would have furrowed his brow in thought or even rose to look over, if he had the energy. But just considering it took so much out of him. He hadn't laid down in so long.

"Hey! Mustang!"

More rushed, skittish steps, a clap, and the faint static of a transmutation. Metal screeched and whined, and more rusted hinged being forced to turn.

He blinked and suddenly he felt hands on him. Roy recoiled away from them, only to immediate regret the action when his shoulders ached and his fingers brushed up a little too close to the wall. He thought he had groaned miserably in pain, but he could have just imagined that.

"Oh shit," Edward said breathlessly, abruptly stopping his attempt to turn the man over. A beat passed, and he leaned over Roy to give the twine bindings his attention instead.

It took far too long for Roy to pause and actually acknowledge that it wasn't an Aerugonian soldier kneeling over him. He managed to look at the kid out of the corner of his eye, unwilling to turn his head just yet. He couldn't see much, but the flashy red of his coat was more than enough to know it was Fullmetal. But he's seen glimpses of friendlier people before; could have just been another hallucination.

Without enough warning, he felt a jolt around his wrists as the rope gave way, allowing his arms to fall slack to his sides for the first time in weeks. But that simple movement had become unfamiliar to his poor joints after so long, not to mention his broken fingers being jostled. He grimaced as a sharp gasp was yanked out of his throat. Fullmetal reacted quickly, gently but hastily moving his arms and rolling him onto his back.

Roy squinted up at the ceiling. Dust particles were still floating down from the beams. Gunfire echoed from outside. Edward knelt over him, staring down at him with wide, worried eyes. Despite the familiar face, Roy felt the urge to press further into the ground, create any distance that he could, just _get away_ , just in case, and all due to instinct. He was not yet convinced that he wasn't about to get struck by whatever hid behind the hallucination.

"What did they do to you?" the kid muttered, inching closer to him. Roy blinked, finding that opening his eyes again was steadily proving to become more and more difficult. "Come on, Colonel; say something."

He somehow managed to keep his eyes open and focus on the kid. He was coated in dirt and grime- blood, it looked like. Mostly not his, as far as Roy could tell. His revealed skin was covered in little cuts and bruises, but nothing that looked to be bothering him. Edward looked tired. His golden eyes still shined brilliantly, however, boring into the colonel as if that alone could give him all the answers he craved.

That prolonged, intense eye contact forced some gears to turn, and suddenly him being there after the chaos he heard outside didn't seem so unlikely.

Wait, what was he doing here? How did he get there?

Roy's tired, sleep deprived mind only then began to catch up with the situation. Edward was there, and wanted him to say something. But that must have meant that he was getting rescued.

Of course, that wouldn't be the first time he thought that. But it wouldn't hurt too much to believe it, after all he had been through.

If Ed was there, then others must have been as well. But even as the thought occurred to him, Roy was unable to feel any relief or joy. His mind was too barren to comprehend much more. If he could only just rest for a little…

His eyes flickered, slowly being pulled closed.

Wait, no- he needed to respond. Roy swallowed a stubborn lump in his throat, opened his parched mouth, fighting to fill the kid's request.

"Hi," he breathed gaspishly.

Fullmetal scrunched his brow, looking down at Roy with an incredulous confusion for a moment that over swept his previous concern. He began to say something, but a series of gunfire outside interrupted him. He quickly looked back towards the door where sunlight and dust crept in, then turned back to Roy.

"Come on, we gotta get out of here. Can you stand?"

Roy marginally shook his head with a grimace. The longer he laid there, the more pain sunk into his legs and feet. Just the prospect of sitting up on his own seemed impossible.

"Well, then…" Edward trailed off, eyes searching the colonel's prone body urgently for a moment. "Alright, be right back. Don't move." He jumped up and ran outside back into the chaos.

Roy trained his eyes to follow, but he was quickly out of sight. Almost immediately, the sense of loneliness that he had not realized went away returned, and the weights on his eyelids became stronger. He had to stay awake. _Fullmetal will come back. Stay awake. Stay awake._

God, he was so tired. His body hurt. He should have been dead.

Edward stormed back into the room just moments later, much to Roy's muted relief. The kid skid back into the opened cell and knelt by his side again. "Hawkeye's on her way. We'll get you out of here, Colonel."

Hawkeye was there too. So this must have really been a full-scale attack on the Aerugonians. They had come for him. He was getting out. He could go home. However, the only response Roy could muster to show Edward that he had heard him was the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth that could have resembled a smile if he had the strength. His eyes tried to close again.

"H-hey, don't fall asleep," the kid urged. "Uh, are you thirsty?"

That got his attention, at least. Roy pried his eyes open to see Fullmetal unhooking a dusty canteen from his belt. Then wordlessly, he shifted closer to help him sit up by kneeling by his head and slowly pushing up on his shoulders.

A rough, pained groan slipped through Roy's clenched teeth, knowing it couldn't have been avoided. Though his attempts were in vain, he tried to keep himself form squirming as pressure was pressed into his back once the kid managed to get his weighted body to sit up. But even then, Fullmetal remained kneeling behind him, using his own body to keep Roy from dropping. The bruises, cuts and burns that littered his back shrieked under the contact, but were still somehow muted by the rest of the pain in his body. Roy bit down on his cheek and endured.

"I- I can't-" His arms, slack at his sides, lacked the energy to so much as rise and show off his mangles fingers.

"Don't worry about it," Fullmetal said simply as he twisted off the canteen's cap and raised it up to the colonel's mouth, albeit at an awkward angle.

Water streamed down his tight, dry throat, and somehow eased some of the suffocating pressure in his chest as he swallowed, ignoring how drops fell down his neck, mixed with old, dried blood, and soaked into his shirt.

A month ago, Roy wouldn't have been caught dead with someone else, let alone Fullmetal, helping him drink. But he also hasn't had relatively clean water in just as long, and simply couldn't care less.

However, it was short lived. Edward lowered his arm when another figure appeared in the doorway, but remained where he was, continuing to let Roy use him as a source of much needed support.

"Sir," Hawkeye's breathless voice gasped as he quickly came in, sinking to her knees once she too entered the cell. "Thank god you're alright."

He would have scoffed if he had the energy. Roy wouldn't label himself as being _alright_ , but he got the message. He wanted to nod or smile or even say something, but he wasn't sure which he was capable of doing, if any.

"It's alright, sir, Hawkeye smiled reassuringly at him, concealing the overwhelming relief that eclipsed her eyes. "We'll talk later. Let's focus on getting out of here first."

 _Good idea._ He wanted again to nod, but settled for trying to keep his vision from defocusing into a mess of unhelpful blurs.

She leaned forwards and gently wrapped an arm around his torso as Edward helped in guiding him up from the other side. Roy exhaled sharply through his teeth as his feet tentatively tried to keep himself standing, but had it not been for his two subordinates taking the majority of his weight, he would have fallen on his face.

Each taking a side, they helped him out of the cell and back into the sunlight.

* * *

Throughout the past month, Roy's body had somehow grown accustomed to only sleeping for a brief amount of time at any given moment. Either the soldiers would take turns throwing stones or kicking him every time he got close to dozing off, or they'd leave him alone just long enough so he would drop his guard slightly. Roy learned quickly that he could never let himself relax.

He wasn't sure how long had passed, but it was long enough for his conditioned body to know something was wrong. A flare of panic spiked through his heart, kick starting his pulse as his eyes flung open to stare up at the dark canvas of a military truck. The road was rough and crooked by the way he swayed, even while laying down on something akin to a makeshift stretcher. Softer than the ground of his cell, at least.

He blinked slowly, straining his eyes to make out his surroundings, to discern if he was still in enemy hands or not. But there wasn't much to see. Another figure laying on what looked like a bench with a piece of fabric over it, the same as he. The rest of the truck appeared bare-

"Sir."

Roy nearly jumped out of his own skin, despite how familiar and soft the voice from behind was. Hawkeye stepped carefully into view and knelt down besides his cot before the uneven road could throw her off balance. He watched her silently, far more focused on easing his heart rate back into something that didn't verge on unhealthy.

Even in the shadows of the canvas truck, she looked exhausted. The iconic vigilance shined in her dark eyes as always, but it was accompanied by a weariness that was inevitable in a battlefield. She looked to have washed off some of the dirt and grim from her face and hands at some point, but her uniform was still as coated as he vaguely remembered.

He had been rescued. For a moment, he thought it was merely a wishful dream. Even then, he still half expected to wake up back in that cell with Aerugonians leering over him, grinning balefully.

"We'll be in South City shortly," she said gently with a slight, relieved smile, and let more silence follow so her words could sink in through his foggy brain.

South City. Away from the front, but still nearby.

Roy lolled his head to the side, unable to quite give an answer, eyes falling on the other prone figure. He soon registered the blond hair and the red coat, furrowing his brow with recollection and questions.

Hawkeye followed his gaze and read his mind simultaneously. "Edward was exhausted by the time we got you to the truck. He had almost single-handedly broken through the enemy line with his alchemy to rescue you."

Roy, finally feeling a small amount of clarity to return to his head, felt a stone drop into his gut at her explanation. He never wanted Fullmetal involved with a war. He never wanted him to face enemy soldiers who all surely fought for the same reason he did. They were different than the common criminals that Edward often dealt with. Far from innocent, but tearing out the very ground beneath an army was not nearly as simple.

It was no wonder the kid was fast asleep. How many people did he have to hurt for Roy's sake? How many of them died, crushed by flying earth and uprooted stones?

His lieutenant watched him sadly, reading the thoughts pass through his mind like his expression was an open book. She worked her jaw subtly, almost unnoticeable, before continuing. "We all wanted him to remain in Central, but once he learned you had been captured, it was impossible to stop him." She turned to look at the young alchemist. "He made a deal with the generals; that he would only fight the Aerugonians if he would be permitted to follow you back to the city once you were rescued. Of course, he shouldn't have been able to bargain with them to begin with, but he managed to… convince them."

The colonel smiled marginally at the implications. Fullmetal really had a way with words. How a sixteen-year-old boy was able to get his way with the entirety of the military's high command was beyond him, but it wasn't at all surprising.

"However," Hawkeye continued, her tone grim, "now that you've been rescued, it's only a matter of time before Edward gets sent back to fight."

Roy's faint smile fell in a heartbeat. He should have figured it out earlier; damn his exhaustion for slowing him down.

"Should've left me," he breathed in a guttural, dry tone.

Hawkeye mutely pursed her lips, her disapproval clearly portrayed by her lamenting eyes. A battle raged in her mind for a moment. "Don't discredit what he did for you, sir. Edward's actions are the only reason we were able to get to you when we did."

Roy's dark, heavy gaze fell back onto Fullmetal's resting form, unable to bare the weight in her stare.

She was right, he knew. The deed had already been done, and he was thankful. The fact in and of itself that Edward immediately went to such lengths to save him was heartwarming, and Roy would be sure to thank and repay him later, but was it really worth being sent off to lead a charge into war?

He was in no state to begin weighing their own worth.

Roy exhaled slowly in a weak attempt to dissolve some of the strain that hung over his body like an uncomfortable weighted blanket, and allowed a somber silence to stretch into the truck, interrupted only by tires driving over earth.

Several minutes passed, in which Roy spent trying to think of something else to say to his lieutenant, but with how slowly his mind was willing to work and how dry his throat felt, he remained quiet.

Moments later, the truck shook and jostled over the uneven terrain, forcing Hawkeye to hunker down and Roy brace himself, using what little strength he had to keep from rolling off. Beats later, the road leveled out and a moment of weariness passed between then.

The first to break it was a muffled, tired groan from the other side of the truck. The two officers looked over, Roy straining greatly to do so, just as Edward shifted and rose a hand to his forehead. He muttered something nonsensical under his breath and lowered his hand to rub at his eyes as he slowly pushed himself to sit up.

Hawkeye had migrated over to his side in an instant with a gentle hand on his shoulder in a tacit suggestion to lay back down. "You should keep resting; we're almost to the city."

Fullmetal, not quite heeding her advice, slouched and lowered his hand to his lap, blinking absently in the muted darkness of the canvas truck. "What happened to- "

His golden eyes found the colonel, who was apparently his target, judging by the astonished expression that Roy's eye contact caused. Shrugging off Hawkeye's hand, Ed pulled himself off the cot and moved to Roy's side, all being a rather laborious effort on his part. He slowly dropped to his knees to get closer to his eye level and quietly looked the colonel over for a moment, and allowing him to do the same.

Though it was difficult to tell with the sparse lighting, Ed appeared to be not quite as grimy as before, same as Hawkeye. But the exhaustion she mentioned was painfully evident by the dark circles under his eyes.

"How're you doing?" he asked roughly, hardly above a whisper. "You were pretty out of it earlier."

Was he? Roy tried to remember, but his rescue was all a clouded blur- dethatched, like it happened to someone else entirely.

He would have wondered if the whole thing had somehow been faked by the Aerugonians, much like the execution was, had it seemed remotely possible. He shuddered as his mind flashed back to that stone wall with the faded blood.

"Mustang?"

Roy flinched back to reality as he willed himself to think back to what Edward was saying. How was he doing? It was a simple question with a simple answer.

"Uhh…" How _was_ he doing? He felt like shit. He couldn't keep a steady thought for more than five seconds. _He should have been dead._ "Better," he croaked quietly, regretting it slightly by how his throat stung. But it was true; at least he wasn't sitting in a cell.

"That's good," he heard Edward say slowly, but his tone was anything but convinced. He glanced back at Hawkeye, gave a quick nod and approached them with a canteen in hand.

"Would you like some water, sir?"

If Roy could have managed more than a tiny nod, he would have. But at least he managed to answer at all, he thought grimly as Hawkeye helped him up slightly so he could drink without choking.

The water stung going down, burning into every dry crack, but it was eagerly welcomed. He felt almost human again after she eventually pulled the canteen away and laid him back down. He let out a heavy, long sigh, closed his eyes for several beats, then looked up at the two again. Hawkeye had stepped away to set the canteen down, but Edward remained, watching him carefully as if he were searching for something.

Roy considered him, then nearly attempted to clear his throat, but thought better of it. He exhaled slowly instead, mostly to test if his voice was going to cooperate.

"You didn't have to do this. I- thank you, but…" he started quietly, then swallowed. "I never wanted you to get involved in this."

"I don't regret my decision," he answered without much hesitation and a mildly miffed expression. "If given the chance, I'd do it again."

"You don't understand what you've agreed to," he continued, thinking back dourly on what Hawkeye had told him.

"I understand just fine, Mustang," he snapped in response, eyes darkening bitterly. "You've always said I'd have to kill people at some point in the military. Well, I guess you were right; thought you'd be happy."

For a moment, in the darkness of the truck, Roy caught a glimpse of a younger version of himself in Ed's eyes. Cynically trying to come to terms with something sickening. Saying words he did not believe to make them true. Battling between morals, right and wrong, and verging on a dangerous edge.

Roy gathered the little strength that had returned to him to rise his arm, pausing as he eyed the splints and bandages that compressed his broken fingers, then dropped them clumsily on the kid's shoulder, pulling him a little closer. The unexpected contact caused Edward's eyes to widen slightly as if he was shaken out of a daze.

"No, that's not it," he breathed, already worn out from the small movement. While seeing the kid struggle to come to terms with the realities of war and sacrifice pained his heart, that wasn't what currently plagued his mind. "By saving me, you may be throwing your life away. And I won't be able to protect you." He felt Hawkeye watching the scene, but she remained on the other side of the truck, giving the two alchemists what little privacy they could inside the cramped truck.

It wasn't about what Edward had to do to get to him. It was what he would continue to do; the back end of the deal he made to come this far.

"I don't need protection," Fullmetal spat under his breath, brow falling into something close to a glare.

"Do not- "Roy started harshly, then paused to grimace through the fiery pain in his throat. He tried again quieter and shifted his stiff hand to the back of Ed's neck, forcing him to lean in closer, to make eye contact with him- making him see the fear and the scars that darkened his eyes. "Do not underestimate the enemy, Ed. And never overestimate yourself."

Something flickered in Edward's eyes as he gaped mutely at the colonel. Several beats of tense silence passed as the kid was momentarily lost in his own thought, as if he was struck by some sort of realization; perhaps he knew that it was not pure concern for what could happen on the battlefield that directed Roy's words, but fear of what he had already gone through. If Ed were to fall into their hands, they would not go easy on him just because he was a child. If anything, they would be far more sadistic as revenge for freeing Roy from their clutches.

Edward's eyes dropped and his shoulders fell, the previous stubbornness having been completely evaporated. He rose his automail hand up to Roy's arm as if to move it away, but when Roy refused to budge, he didn't force it.

He seemed to be taking Roy's words seriously, based on his silence. As much as his throat begged him to stop talking and how much his body wanted to just lay down and rest, he pressed on. He didn't know how quickly they would send the kid back into battle; he could be gone the next time Roy woke up, for all he knew. But as he opened his mouth to further stress his point, Edward's eyes jumped back to his. The fear he saw stilled his tongue and demanded he rethink his words.

Roy's expression softened. "…thank you," he sighed and smiled slightly when Edward looked surprised. "Thank you for rescuing me. But I don't want you to end up how I did. Be smarter than me, alright?" At that, he did finally lower his bruised, weary arm back to his side.

"Intelligence had nothing to do with it," Fullmetal returned easily once he shook past the shock and let his visage harden with a muted anger. "They ambushed you! Separated you from the others by force! There was nothing you could have done."

So he did his research.

"There's always a way," he breathed, thinking back on that day that felt so long ago. "No matter what, you have to believe that." Even when it wasn't necessarily true, sometimes the mere belief that there was a way out could keep a solider going longer. That sheer determination to live had gotten Roy out of more seemingly impossible spots than he cared to count.

But perhaps saying that made him a hypocrite. The days of torture blended together and eventually forced him to stop considering what little hope there may have been of rescue. What right did he really have to tell Fullmetal that? But then again, he hoped his words would benefit him somehow, no matter how hypocritical they may have sounded.

Regardless, Edward must have felt the weight in his words. That brief flicker of anger tempered easily, and he merely exhaled, staring off at nothing. The truck slowed and turned onto a road that has been smoothed by frequent use, causing the silence that followed his gaspish words to become far more prominent. Roy at least did not think it was uncomfortable. Granted, that might have been because he was far too tired to realize such subtle details at the moment.

Hawkeye stepped over to the small window that opened into the truck's cabin and peeked through. "We're approaching Sieobe," she stated as she turned back to the alchemists, perhaps wanting to cut through any mute tension she may have felt.

Roy knew that name, but took a moment to remember that it was located a few miles out from South City. It was only a matter of time now.

Edward slowly rose back to his feet and glanced absently around the inside of the canvas. He looked tired. Roy was about to gather up the energy to tell him he should rest, but the kid beat him to the punch when he cleared his throat and opened his mouth.

"I-"

The truck jerked violently to the side, abruptly throwing Fullmetal and Hawkeye off balance. While she was close enough to use the wall as support, Edward was thrown from his feet and stumbled backwards into the other long bench. Roy had tensed and just narrowly stopped himself from rolling onto the ground, but the three had no time to do anything besides share a beat of worried eye contact before an earsplitting crack of metal thundered.

The world flipped upside-down as the truck was knocked off balance and rolled off the road. Disoriented and dazed, Roy recognized that he had hit something hard, but was otherwise too disconnected to discern much else. A static of chaos buzzed in his head, and continued to ring even after the truck stopped moving, just as his head continued to spin. His entire body had burned with a sudden burst of agony and his eyesight was consumed by a fiery white as his broken fingers were pressed by his own weight.

A broken, miserable groan escaped Roy's parched lips after the world around him slowed into a nauseous ripple. He rolled roughly onto his back, careful to keep his aching arms by his sides. However, that failed to help, and may have only made his pain worse. It was then that he realized the truck had landed on its side, and the metal frame for the canvas was digging into his bruised back. Through the use of energy that he was not willing to exert, the colonel managed to shift off of it, so his back was instead laying on the canvas and the rocks of the ground underneath it.

It took longer than he would like to admit to think beyond the crippling pain and wonder why the truck had rolled. Had something hit them? But they hadn't even reached town yet…

Roy's eyes flew open to wildly search the rest of the overturned truck for his subordinates. They were both in similar positions, laying on the canvas, alive, in pain, but not exactly conscious. He saw Edward shift off of one of the metal beams as he did, and heard a soft groan from Hawkeye. However, they both kept their eyes closed, tense- perhaps fighting through concussions. They must have taken more damage due to being upright at the time of the crash, unlike him.

He heard movement from outside. It was gone before Roy could tell what it was, but he knew he had to move. But the prospect of trying was daunting enough, let alone actually doing it. Nausea had a tight grip around his spinning stomach, and the agonizing ache in his hands and feet was overwhelming and showed no signs of easing.

The back of the truck was opened, but Roy thankfully recognized the Amestrian blue before he could panic. He didn't recognize the specific solider however, but figured he had spent the trip in the cabin.

"Help me up," Roy coughed breathlessly, drawing the soldier's attention down to him. He seemed relived just to know someone in the back was alive, and was quick to push over one of the strapped down storage crates to give him something to sit on. "What happened?" he asked once he waved the man off and directed him to check on the others.

"We were hit by what looks like one of our own trucks," he explained hastily, voice shaken by adrenaline and fried nerves. "The front has been totaled and our driver was killed in the crash." Through the lackluster lighting, Roy caught a glimpse of the many thin scratches that coated his face and hands, likely from broken glass. He helped the others sit up against the shared wall of the cabin. Hawkeye seemed close to waking up, and Ed rose a weak hand to wave the soldier away, then dozed off again.

When the back of the truck was opened again, Roy expected to see the blue uniforms of those from the other truck that had plowed into them. But the garb of the figures who appeared were much more drab. A dark brown that was indeed familiar, but in a way that made the blood in his veins run cold with terror.

Aerugonians.

Three of them, guns unsheathed and pointing at them, their features obscured by harsh shadows. With Edward and Hawkeye still out of commission, Roy and the other soldier had no choice but to keep quiet and still as they stared down the deadly barrels of enemy rifles.

"You didn't think you'd get away that easily- did you, Alchemist?" That gruff, highly accented voice resonated with familiarity, immediately bringing Roy's mind back to the little town that had been turned into a military camp, where his face had been shoved into the dirt and his fingers slowly broken behind his lashed, freely bleeding back.

"Line them up outside," the Aerugonian officer sneered, stepping aside to allow his subordinates to enter the overturned truck. They first went for only standing Amestrian, stealing his gun and forcing his arms behind his back as they roughly ushered him outside. The lower ranking soldier appeared to be the only one they were wary of, given Roy's obvious handicaps and the other two still appearing to be unconscious.

The older commanding officer approached Roy like a cat toying with a mouse with an amused gleam in his eyes. "Stand up," he barked with a sadistic grin and his gun pointed at the colonel's head.

Roy tensed, straining through the dizzy wave that washed through his already foggy head and fought to bite back to newly revived burst of reeling terror. They all knew that standing, let alone walking, was no easy task for him. That was not to say he had any desire to be dragged outside, but…

The Aerugonian, having sensed his apparent hesitation, shifted his calculating gaze over to Fullmetal and Hawkeye's quiescent forms. Immediately, Roy forced his weight onto his feet, bracing himself with his elbow against the wall beside him. He bared his teeth, limbs incredibly tense and shaking under the pressure of his own body and strain.

He had to do as they said. He _had_ to. Roy could not allow his subordinates to take the fall for his own inability to simply stand up.

But even as he thought that, Roy cracked his eyes open to glare out at the truck's back opening, silently damning that two foot drop to the ground where the canvas curled around the frame of the exit.

For several days straight, he was forced to stand up without respite. Passing out or falling of any kind would result in getting mercilessly beaten, being deprived of food and water, and the moment he was able, they would have him stand again and pace in circles instead. The cycle continued for weeks. Looking back on it, Roy wondered how he had survived.

His legs cried out in pain with every heavy, intermittent step, as if all the weight of the world was pushing him down, demanding that he fall to his knees in defeat. But his fiery refusal to do so stubbornly continued to burn, singeing his insides and causing a small voice to question if it was truly worth the effort.

But still, he pressed on.

Roy reached the exit of truck somehow, the past few seconds being a painful blur. He strained to gaze out at the dusty countryside, the vast hills enveloped by the dimming red light of the setting sun. The other soldier had been shoved to his knees with his arms up at gunpoint. There were two more Aerugonians out there, making it a total of five. Roy subconsciously leaned against the metal frame, mutely pondering how he was going to bring himself to step down when he could barely stand up as it were. His legs were quivering under his weight and his feet felt to be standing on coals.

However, the decision was made for him by a boot kicking him squarely in the back, propelling him forward and down into the rocks and dirt, just an arm's length away from the other Amestrian. His arms flew up to protect his face instinctively, but the tremors that ripped through his nerves as his broken fingers cried out made him quickly regret it.

A moment later, rough, cold fingers grabbed onto his hair and yanked back, forcing his back to arch uncomfortable until he was pulled onto his knees with a sharp cry, physically incapable of fighting back. The moment he was released, he hunched forward with his head bowed, gasping through the reawaken pain that undulated through his body.

Sitting in the dirt at the mercy of his armed captors… It was almost strange to think that he had just narrowly escaped from this hell, just to end up exactly where he was that very same morning.

Movement from inside of the truck- a struggle, followed by Edward's enraged, but groggy voice. Moments later, the riled teen was dragged out of the back with a soldier on either side, both struggling to keep him from squirming. He was shoved to the ground besides Roy and kept still by a gun to his head, and the line was completed when Hawkeye's unconscious body was pulled out and dropped into the dirt as well.

"Hey dumbass!" Fullmetal growled, just narrowly holding himself back from jumping to his feet, by the looks of his restlessness.

Roy flinched the moment his tone rose. He had learned early on that angering them only lead to more pain. And yet, here they were in the very situation that Roy though he could avoid if he remained on the battlefield to keep Ed out of trouble. In the end, it was his very presence that caused this.

 _Damn it, Fullmetal- shut up!_

"You're an idiot if you think you can just kill us so far into Amestris and get away with it," the kid continued, glaring daggers up at the ringleader.

But the Aerugonian, thank god, did not appear too fazed by his outburst, but more amused. He smirked knowingly and dropped his hardened, narrowed eyes onto Roy, who kept his own stare resolutely at the ground. Eye contact implied a challenge that he was incapable of acting on.

"Oh it's quite worth the risk," he answered in a tone that shot chills down Roy's spine. "Perhaps you underestimate your value to us, Alchemist. Sadly, we did not account for your little pet to break you out. But now that we have you both…"

"His _what_!? Wanna run that by me one more time, you bastard!?" Edward roared, causing the gunmen to tense. It was a miracle he didn't forget about the weapons entirely and punch their commander in the face then and there.

Roy was a moment away from snapping at Edward to shut his mouth, but their captors beat him to it. With a small, subtle gesture from their leader, one of the soldiers turned his rifle around and whacked him on the head with the back of it.

An uncomfortable tightness coiled in Roy's stomach as Fullmetal cursed under his breath, the strike doing nothing to help his previously sustained concussion. This was exactly what he wanted to avoid. He thought they were safe. They were so close!

"I see you haven't trained your subordinate very well," the accented, amused voice supplied as his eyes fell on Roy once more. "But no matter. I'll make sure to save you for last, so you can watch them all die."

No, no, no there had to be something he could do. Just moments ago, he was preaching to Fullmetal about how there was always a way out. He had to believe that. _There had to be something._

"Or… maybe we'll at least leave the woman alive. It would be a shame to let her go to waste." A cold, despairing rage snapped Roy's eyes open and onto the Aerugonian as the surrounding soldiers laughed, all sharing the same, sickening smile.

 _There had to be a way out. It couldn't end like this._

They raised their guns and took aim. A frigid wave of dread washed over Roy like a tidal wave, attempting to bury his fervor. For a moment, he was staring at that stone wall again, trying to come to terms with his own imminent death.

But they weren't aiming for him.

The soldier on his left- he was young, just barely out of the academy. Too young to be here. He was tense, eyes clutched tightly shut, making a valiant but pointless attempt to hide his fear.

A single gunshot rung in the dark, dusty air, and Roy flinched violently away, but still felt the splatters of blood hit his cheek, followed by the lifeless body collapsing into the dirt.

The silence that followed was thick, uninterrupted by the watching soldiers only so they could savor their captive's reactions. But both alchemists had turned away, equally revolted and frozen in place.

Another gesture by the commanding officers, and the four guns were then turned to point at Edward. Roy's heart pounded fiercely in his chest and a powerful wave of dizziness threatened to blur his vision as he watched the kid. Ed was looking back at him, wide eyed, still stunned from being hit, and shining with uncertainty and fear. A silent plea that maybe even he was not aware of.

The colonel's own words echoed through his head, claiming that he wanted to protect him- that he would somehow keep Edward safe even in a battlefield. But looking at them now, such a declaration was almost laughable.

But the stifling terror that clung tightly onto his heart made it clear that it wasn't funny at all.

Golden eyes searching for answers, Hawkeye's prone form being gazed upon by enemy soldiers, and the lifeless body that he couldn't bear to look at-

For a moment, Roy lost all concern for his own pain, his broken fingers, and his own life.

The Aerugonian commander rose his arm, relaxed, like he was enjoying every moment of it.

Roy steeled himself and allowed no time to think.

He lurched forward, using every ounce of residual strength and body weight to plow into their leader, trapping one arm within his own and throwing them both into the ground.

That was when all hell broke loose.

He wrestled with the Aerugonian, doing all he could just to keep them both on the ground, hopefully using him at a human shield. But gunshots blasted through the air, and Roy was incapable of seeing any of it. He heard shocked, pained cries, and the earth itself seemed to tremble for a moment, as if it too shared in Roy's paralyzing dread.

The enemy officer fought back, but with one arm trapped in Roy's grip, he was unable to pry himself away by sheer force, and instead managed to reach his free hand for the colonel's neck. His cold fingers trapped his windpipe, causing Roy to cough and choke as he was cut off from much-needed oxygen. His own grip began to weaken, simply lacking the strength to keep up the struggle for much longer.

Every instinct screamed at him to let go and pry the hand from his neck, despite his hands being unable to do so. His arms were quickly losing steam, but he clung on for as long as he could, repetitively telling himself that their lives hung in the balance.

Another gunshot, loud and close to his head, roared and effortlessly sliced through the nervous static that clouded his ears. The pressure on his neck disappeared in an instant and the body he fought to restrain went limp. Roy paused, as if to see if it was all a mistake, then looked up to see a grotesque hole in the man's head, and empty, lifeless eyes staring back.

He detached himself and scrambled back, nearly collapsing and using his scuffed elbows to keep himself up, and glanced behind him to see that the four gunmen had been restrained by alchemic hands that had emerged from the ground below their feet. Behind them, Hawkeye lowered her handgun and a tired relief flashed across her expression the moment he looked at her.

Among his heavy, gaspish breathing, his mouth gaped to ask what the hell had just happened, if she was okay, but his eyes jumped to Edward, who was still kneeling in the dirt. At first, he looked fine- calm, almost. But there was a tension in his shoulders that made Roy think twice. And then he saw how the kid had his arms wrapped around his leg, and the blood that slowly began to stream down.

"Fullmetal!" he gasped, instinctively trying to rush to his side, but a spike of agony shot through his limbs, forcing him to freeze. Hawkeye came to the same realization and quickly approached the kid in his stead, albeit a little unsteadily.

"It's not that bad," Edward said through bared teeth as Hawkeye goaded his bloodied hands to lower. Roy nearly settled for watching from a distance, but his mind was immediately made when he caught the quiet curse she muttered under her breath.

He scrambled over to the two on his knees, unwilling to put more pressure on his feet than he absolutely had to. Edward's face was contorted with a mix of pain and exhaustion as he glanced up at the colonel.

"After you tackled that guy," Edward began to explain arduously, "I shifted the ground to throw the others off balance. They all tried to shoot at the same time, I think, but… I barely notice I got hit until after I trapped them. Coulda' been worse," he said with a slight twitch that might have resembled a shrug, had he not grimaced instead.

While Roy was having a harder time processing his thoughts at the moment, Hawkeye took one look at the wound and was quick to push herself to her feet. "I'll look for some medical supplies," she offered hastily before hurrying to the overturned truck. Roy watched her go with no lack of concern when she swayed on her way. She must have only awoken as they were getting lined up, and played along until she had the perfect opportunity to shoot. Thank god the Aerugonians didn't think to take the unconscious woman's gun.

Edward gingerly clamped his hands around the bullet wounds, tensing and allowing a small involuntary whimper as he did so. His hands were shaking however, and did a poor job at keeping the blood from flowing, especially considering the automail.

Roy looked down at his own hands to mutely examine the makeshift splits that were hastily wrapped with gauze. "Sorry," Roy said quietly in advance as he leaned closer and with what little strength had returned to his arms, he pressed his palms over Ed's shivering hands in hopes of better blocking the blood.

Fullmetal tensed and he lowers his forehead to his knee, shoulders shaking from strain. Roy watched grimly as the blood soaked into the bandages around his hands, but thankfully began to slow somewhat.

"This is why I didn't want you out here," he heard himself say without ever planning to speak. There were so many things that he could have said- about how he didn't want him to get hurt, especially when Roy would be trapped in a hospital and unable to watch his back. The words were countless; constantly flowing through his mind but not his mouth, refusing to be said.

The adrenaline was beginning to wear away.

Edward breathed rigidly, taking his time before finally uttering in a hushed, forced tone: "this is exactly why I came." Several more harsh breaths. "And you call _me_ reckless. That was pretty stupid, you know."

Roy glanced over his shoulder, passing over the four incapacitated soldiers and up to the dead body of the Aerugonian officer as images of his blood splattering across his vision flashed through his mind with a shudder. He must have been covered in it. Finally that cruel man was dead, but Roy was unable to feel any joy or relief. He was too tired. He could only stare absently for a moment before turning his attention back to Edward, while shifting to keep the pressure on the wound from diminishing.

"They woulda' shot you if it weren't for me," the kid continued, not to brag or guilt him, but to point out a simple fact that there was no denying. If it hadn't been for him, Roy would have still been in that captured town. Or maybe he already would have been dead, with his lifeless body splayed against the stone wall.

The colonel nodded fractionally, despite Edward coiled too tightly around his injured leg to notice. "You're right."

Edward glanced up at him, expression still pressed with pain, but with some kind of thoughtful acknowledgment in his eyes.

Roy opened his mouth- to say what, he wasn't sure- but paused when he spotted Hawkeye approaching the two, with what looked like a medical kit in hand. She knelt down beside them and Roy shifted out of her way, unsure what to do with his now bloodied hands.

She got to work on tending to the bullet wounds, who was valiantly trying not to squirm. But as she worked, she glanced up at the state of Roy's hands and began to speak, but froze the moment she made eye contact with him. Her usually stoic demeanor switched to one of concern.

"Sir, are you alright?" she asked suddenly.

Roy hesitated, unsure why she bothered asking. Anyone could take one look at him and know that, no, he was not alright. "What do you mean?"

"You look like you're about to pass out." She turned and quickly tied off the bandage around Ed's leg, then turned back to the colonel. "You should lie down, sir."

"This isn't the time for that, Lieutenant. We still need to find a way to get out of-" he was cut off when she leaned forward and pressed the back of her hand against his forehead, then pulled away with a faint grimace. "I'm fine," he muttered, but quickly felt less and less sure of himself the longer he watched her reaction.

He must have been quite the picture: coated in old, half-healed wounds and the blood of others, ten broken fingers, and still claiming he didn't need to lie down.

"I'll find a way to get help, but both of you need to rest."

Roy was beats away from protesting, but something- the smallest flicker of some faint, hidden feeling, made him think otherwise. He stewed on it blankly for a moment, trying to uncover what it was. But by focusing on it, he was able to clearly notice how his eyes were growing heavy and the sheer amount of exhaustion and strife his body has endured began to catch up to him.

"Maybe that's… not a bad idea," the colonel huffed, failing to realize how he unsteadily swayed on his knees until he fell face down into the dirt.

* * *

Roy had somehow ended up back inside the truck, sprawled out between the beams on the canvas. Edward was in a similar position, but sitting up against what was once the floor of the truck's bed, as if that somehow helped him endure the pain of his wound that had begun to bleed through the bandage as he continued to put pressure on it. Meanwhile, Hawkeye was sitting on the edge of the back opening, leaning against the wall and keeping a watchful eye on the road and the remaining captured Aerugonians, seeming to have shaken off the daze of her earlier concussion.

Through his half-conscious daze, Roy vaguely recognized Hawkeye saying that she found a field telephone in the other truck, which was nearly as damaged as theirs. She managed to contact Southern Command, but that was as far as his foggy memory went.

So they waited.

They waited as the sun, reddened by the dust in the southern air, sunk into the horizon and encased them all in darkness.

They waited, and waited.

Roy had absolutely no idea how much time had passed. His sense of time had been muted by the aching waves of agony that washed through his body with every heartbeat, as well as every worry and concern to cross through his mind, making every second feel like a year.

But even as Edward sat a few meters away with a hole in his leg, Roy knew there was nothing he could do, just as he couldn't cause a rescue team to arrive any sooner. This would have originally bothered him to no end, but Roy had grown quite accustomed to feeling useless within the past month.

He managed to drift into something that could almost be called sleeping that he would get stirred from and fall back into periodically for however long they were stranded there.

He freely allowed his thoughts to drift lethargically through a sea of ink. He couldn't process what images were absently flowing through his mind; too tired to try even if he had the desire to. They went on unbidden, sorting through memories and thoughts as abstractly as dreams always did. But as time passed immeasurably, Roy's subconscious strayed back to the small town that he had been held captive for so long.

He saw that stone wall, saw himself standing before it, observing the scene from a distance.

His heart rate began to race.

A flash of gunfire, and the image disappeared to be immediately replaced by an open, dusty moor. The sun painted the valley in red, and he was standing in it, looking as his own shadow stretched down like a black scar. He looked up to the barrel of a gun.

 _You should be dead._

Roy flinched violently, eyes snapping open and frantically searching his surroundings, slowly taking in the overturned truck. With a weary sigh, he willed his body to relax and within seconds, felt his eyes close again.

It was a damning cycle.

He was so tired- far too tired to fight it. But falling asleep always resulted in seeing images that would jolt him awake

He heard movement- voices. Quiet at first, and then louder, more urgent. He tensed, eyes refusing to open just yet, mental images tricking him into thinking they already had. Movement. People. Edward was saying something. Louder again, more urgent again.

What's happening?

 _What's happening?!_

 _Watch out, danger, run away NOW._

A hand on his arm-

Roy's heart jumped against his ribs and he recoiled vehemently away from the touch, bringing his useless arms up defenselessly. His legs kicked him back slightly, wanting to create distance, to kick his attacker, to get away-

 _Get Away!_

"Roy!"

He was functioning purely on autopilot. Two hands now on his shoulders, gripping him tightly, not allowing him to break free. He panicked, his mind rushed with flashbacks of the earlier days in his imprisonment, when they were constantly holding him down, too afraid to get near unless he was restrained.

He couldn't let them do that again.

"Roy! Hey, it's okay! Ow- calm down!"

He fought and struggled against the opposing force, desperation blocking his lungs until each breath was just short of a gasp. But the voice continued to call to him, breaking through the delirium that clouded his mind.

Steady, warm hands released his arm but appeared again and trapping his face in their grip. So close- _too close_ to his neck. He expected pain, to feel pressure, to have to fight for air, but none of that came. The grip was just _there_ , steady, but not harmful.

He opened his eyes and froze.

"Roy?"

Maes was kneeling besides him, forcing Roy to look at him, expression tense and worried. Behind him, a few figures in blue were guiding Fullmetal out of the truck. Nearby headlights shined through the canvas, effortlessly chasing off the suffocating darkness, but causing strange, harsh shadows to fall on them all.

"Hughes?" he heard himself murmur, voice dry and hollow. "What're you-"

His already fragile voice was easily cut off as Maes grinned broadly and abruptly pulled him into a tight hug "Thank god," Maes breathed, a great sigh of relief filtering through his tone as if the weight of the world had been lifted all in a single moment. "Thank god you're alright! You have no idea how worried I was. When I got the call from Hawkeye, saying the rescue team successfully found you, but was ambushed again?! And all of this blood… God, Roy- you lucky bastard."

His words flowed over the colonel like a steady current, but far too fluidly for him to get a good grasp on. As Maes went on, his tone lilted up and down, then cracked by the sheer weight of his worry, and finally followed by a shaken laugh that reverberated with so much built-up apprehension and relief that it was almost palpable as Roy was pressed into his friend's chest, and held there by quivering arms. His own arms just hung limply by his sides, too stunned and incoherent to consider moving them, regardless of the constant pain.

For as long as the moment was allowed to last, he allowed himself to be held, mutely reveling in the contact that meant he was safe.

Beats passed- difficult to perceive how many, when Roy's pulse was yet to settle down. Maes eventually loosened his grip, and held the colonel at more of a distance to look him over, keeping a stern grip on his shoulders as if he knew that releasing would lead to Roy crumpling back down to the ground. A curious expression overtook his visage.

"Roy?" He asked quietly. It took him a few moments to offer the quizzical _hmm_ that he was expecting, but he was not looking at Maes as he did so. The effects of pure exhaustion were still ravaging his ability to think coherently, especially after the adrenaline that forced him to focus earlier simmered down. "We need to get you to a hospital," the lieutenant colonel said hastily under his breath after taking a moment to study his friend's state. "Come on, buddy; let's get you up."

Somehow, that was more than enough to spark some coherence back into him. "No," he gasped, instinctively reeling back as the thought of more walking flashed into his mind. "I- I can't…"

Maes paused, taken off guard by the sudden surge of terror in his voice. He let a moment pass by, glanced down at his feet that had been bandaged as well at some point, then exhaled in thought. "I'll help you," he said with a smile and wrapped his arms around his torso to lift him off the ground.

"W-wait, I can't! I-" Roy began to stutter a litany of scrambled complaints and excuses, nearly begging him to stop, but he felt his weight be lifted regardless, forcing him to cling tightly onto Maes before too much pressure could be put on his own abused feet.

Thankfully, his friend expected him to do as much, and was fully prepared to take on the majority of his weight, and didn't comment as Roy wrapped his arms around his shoulders and neck, probably nearly choking him the process, and far too stricken to consider how pathetic he must have looked.

Maes guided him out of the truck and somehow maneuvered them both to the ground. Roy, still fighting off delirium and the persistent pull of unconsciousness, gazed at the outside scene, eyes jumping off the two new military trucks that had appeared and on the small group of Amestrian soldiers who were already busy with Fullmetal and Hawkeye, while others worked on pulling the Aerugonians out of the alchemic clutches of the ground.

Hawkeye appeared to be fine, walking on her own two legs to the truck, but certainly seemed ready to pass out, given the chance. Edward, however, was in the process of being lifted inside, and was clearly in too much pain to bother fighting for the sake of his stubborn dignity.

Roy froze. Or rather, he tensed and Maes froze, since he wasn't really moving, so much as being carried.

"Roy?"

The colonel gaped for a moment, unsure how to voice his thoughts as they lethargically tried to order themselves. "Fullmetal got shot," he said, astonished as it suddenly occurred to him.

Maes gave him an odd look, and gently began to keep moving, much to Roy's absentminded displeasure. "Didn't you already know that?"

"Yeah- no, no, not that," he breathed, forcing his friend to stop moving again, to which he responded with a voiceless sigh. "They can't send him back to the field until it heals."

"That's right," Maes said lightly, having found Roy's train of thought. "Both of you will be in the hospital for a while, it seems like. Speaking of which, let's _go."_

Roy stopped fighting him, too busy grinning weakly as they slowly made their way to the truck. He didn't know how long this war with Aerugo would continue, but at least he and his youngest subordinate would get to avoid it for a while longer.

Perhaps it was a selfish thought. He still wanted to protect the nation from invaders, but at least now, he could heal and do so without having to bear the weight of knowing a child soldier would have had to do the job in his place. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it would be worth it in the end.

That thought alone was enough to hold back the nightmares as he and Maes climbed into the truck and drove out of the war zone.

* * *

 _ **P**_ _ **sst. If you liked this, go check out One Life by Ranowa Hikura.**_

 **Thanks for reading!**


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